tmtmaimmmmmmmHmmmmmmtimmmmMmmimmtmamMm 



55 \9 '^ 
(9 1^ ^8 




nr> 



Qj^ rlAsX/v^ » <?-eA-^AA-^ 





«« 




Class _T5^asic^ 
Book Mms 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 



y.j±. 



9 



ASPHALT 

and Other Poems 




ASPHALT 

By Orrick Johns 

MUSHROOMS 

By Alfred Kreymborg 

THE BOOK OF SELF 
By James Oppenheim 

THE COLLECTED POEMS 
of William H. Davie s 

OTHERS (1916) 

An Anthology of the New 
Verse 



ASPHALT 

and Other Poems 

By Orrick Johns 




New York . Alfred A. Knopf . Mcmxvii 



COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY 
ALFRED A. KNOPF 






PRINTED IN THE. UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



m 12 1917 



©aA460744 



To Peggy 



CONTENTS 

Bread i i 
Home 13 
News 15 
The Cynic 17 
Politicians 19 
Broadway 21 
Election 23 
The Little Kid 25 
Religion 27 
The Novice 29 
Marriage a la Mode 31 
Hospital 33 
Mobilisation 35 
Hunger 37 

COUNTRY RHYMES 

The Home Fire 41 
Little Things 42 
Entertaining 43 
Dignity 45 
The Last Night 46 
The Tree Toad 47 



CONTENTS 

The Horns of Peace 49 
Mysteries 50 
The Mad Woman 5 1 
The Old Home 52 
The Door 54 
The River Man 55 
Mothers and Children 56 
To A Dead Classmate 58 
The Interpreter 60 
Dilemma 61 
The Dance 62 
Ollendorf's Wife 63 

THE CITY 

Second Avenue 67 

The Loom-Girl 72 

The Battle of Men and God 73 

Frances 75 

The Worker 76 

The Strip of River 77 

Gold 78 

OLD YOUTH 

The Daughter 81 

Song for the Little Mistress 82 

The Moon's Betrayal 84 

The Silent Place 86 

The Melody 88 



CONTENTS 

To J. S. P. 89 

I The Dead Singer 89 
II The Coronal of Dust 91 
The Last Poet 93 
The Answer 95 

THREE WOMEN 
Quiescence 99 

E Poi ViDi Venir da Lungi Amore ioi 
-Salome 107 

EBB SAND AND STARS 
Ebb Sand and Stars hi 



Acknowledgment Is hereby made to the editors of 
Reedy s Mirror; Poetry^ A Magazine of Verse; The 
Smart Set; The Forum; The Poetry Review; The 
Poetry Journal; and Contemporary Verse, for permis- 
sion to reprint many of the poems included in this vol- 
ume. 

The Author. 



ASPHALT 



BREAD 

BREAD, is it bread? 
Den go an' git yer head 
Beaten inta jelly by de bulls! 
Dey'll preach ta yer a spell, 
An' ya'll never go ta hell, 

So long as yer ain't tired o' bein' gulls! 

Bread, bread, bread. 
Say, son, do you see red? 

Say, sonny, kin ya look wid yer eyes? 
Bread, bread, bread. 
An' a comrade lyin' dead — 

It's nothin' if ya listen ta their lies! 

Take another pull 

Of de bughouse till yer full — 

You don't want no thinkin in yer mind ! 
Strain, strain, strain. 
But dontcha break de chain. 

An' dontcha let de system git behind! 
II 



BREAD 

Bread, bread, bread. 
Say, son, do you see red ? 

Say, sonny, kin ya look wid yer eyes ? 
Bread, bread, bread. 
An* a comrade lyin' dead — 

It's nothin' if ya listen ta their lies ! 

Life, is it life? 

Aw, cut it wid a knife ! 

Aw, take it out in lookin* at de moon ! 
Say, wot's de use o' talk ? 
Walk, walk, walk — 

Walk, an' let de bosses pay de tune ! 

Bread, bread, bread, 
Say, son, do you see red ? 

Say, sonny, kin ya look wid yer eyes ? 
Bread, bread, bread, 
An' a comrade lyin' dead — 

It's nothin' if ya listen ta their lies! 



12 



HOME 

HOME? Say, wotta ya mean, guy, 
Wotta ya tryin' ta pass me ? 
Home ? Say, wotta ya givin' me — 

You ain't tryin' ta gas me? 
I ain't seen no such a place — 
Guess ya thought ya'd played de ace! 
Home? Say, guy, you got a face, — 
Wotta ya mean by home ? 

Home? Say, wotta ya mean, guy, 
Wotcha tryin* ta hand me? 

Home? I reckon any home 
Wouldn't a had ta canned me. 

Say, guy, dontcha make no jokes ! 

I got tired o' hearin' blokes 

Ask me, ** Ain'tcha got no folks? " 
Wotta ya mean by home? 

Home ? Say, wotta ya mean, guy — 
Wotcha slippin* over? 

13 



HOME 

Home? Say, wot's de answer, guy? 

Don't I look in clover? 
Git dis in yer little dome — 
Sittin' here behind de foam's 
A dam sight softer flop 'an home! 

Home? Say, wotta ya mean? 



H 



NEWS 

/OINAL, Evenin Joinall 
Warships off de coast ! 
Give de guy his change, Sam — 

Mister, here's your Post. 
Gawd, but it's a' gittin' cold, — 
Say, is all dem Masses sold? 
Guess dat sheet has took a hold- 
Freezin', ain't it most? 

Joinalj Evenin Joinall 
Sam, let's have a Mail. 

Yessir, just one Masses left — 
(Dat guy's got de kale!) 

Git me, bo, — I need a drink ! 

Smell dat rotten sewer stink? — 

Say, wot t'ell ya doin', gink, 
Cantcha make a sale? 

Jotnal, Evenin Joinall 
Latest from de Street! 

Say, dat dame's a peacherine — 
Like ta see her eat! 
15 



NEWS 

Jesus Aitch, here, wot's about? 
You git on an* shut yer moutM 
Masses? Masses all sold out — 
Sam, d'ya i^ead dat sheet? 



i6 



THE CYNIC 

YA quit yer job ? I gotcha — 
I seen de way it works : 
Ya buys some rags 'at's flossy 

An' ya travels wid de clerks ; 
Ya t'inks yer feelin' lonesome 

An' ya'd like ta have a home — 
So ya goes an' gits a license 
Wid a solid ivory dome ! 

About de end o' fall 
De first begins ta squall — 
Say, it ain't no use at all 
Ta holler den ! 

Ya quit yer job ? I gotcha — 
A job fer life's de stuff: 

Ya t'inks ya got a feller 
Wot's a di'mond in de rough; 

Say, di'monds turns out phoney, 
But ya can't bring no complaint ; 
17 



THE CYNIC 

An' raisin' kids fer hunger? 
You kin do it, kid — I ain't ! 

Yer Eve before de Fall 
Till de kids begins ta squall 
Say, it ain't no use at all 
Ta holler den! 



i8 



POLITICIANS 

DE way dem fellers jaws 
Of de State, an' Gawd, an' Laws, 
Dey'd give ya room ta t'ink dey was de t'ree; 
Ya'd say dere breath was legal. 
An' dat dey was Gawd's own ekal, 

An' dey wasn't born somehow like you an' me! 

It's talk, talk, talk, 

An' den dey walks de chalk. 

But it's never quite de same as wot they do! 
It's *' feller men an' friends " — 
But believe me, bo, dat ends ! 

When dey gits alone it's me a' pluckin' you ! 

When dem guys is on dere legs 
Say, bo, dey'll walk on eggs — 

Ya'd t'ink dere folks had growed 'em under glass! 
But believe me, tain't de same 
When dere back into de game — 

It's grab de stuff, an' do it rough, an' don't let nut- 
tin' pass! 

19 



POLITICIANS 

It's talk, talk, talk, 

An' den dey walks de chalk. 

But it's never quite de same as wot they do! 
It's " feller men an' friends " — 
But believe me, bo, dat ends ! 

When dey gits alone it's me a^ pluckin' you ! 

Say, let 'em t'row dat bluff 
If dey ain't got cards enuff. 

Let 'em shuffle Gawd an' glory in de pack! 
If ya know, ya'U understand 
Dat when any guy's a man — 

Well, bo, dere ain't much change a'comin' back! 

It's talk, talk, talk. 

An' den dey walks de chalk, 

But it's never quite de same as wot they do! 
It's " feller men an' friends " — 
But believe me, bo, dat ends ! 

When dey gits alone it's me a' pluckin' you ! 



20 



BROADWAY 

SAY, dat street's de real stuff, 
She dolls herself wid art ; 
Gee, but she don^t t'row no bluff — 
If she aint got no heart! 

In de sun she blinks, 
In de rain she drinks — 

Say, she's de dame ta love! 
She's dere, an' bo's, 
Anyt'ing goes — 

But she gives a guy de shove! 

Dat ol' gal's de dancin' kid. 
She dances twenty mile. 

She never tells ya wot ya've did. 
An' she never draws yer bile! 

She's slim an' neat, 
She rests yer feet, 
21 



BROADWAY 

She treats ya on de square! 
But it's down ya go 
If she loves ya, bo — 

It's down ya go, fer fair! 



22 



ELECTION 

GIT de glad hand, sonny? 
Stick ya out a mit? 
Slip ya 'cross a dollar ? — 

Take de stuff an' git! 
Don't go raise no holler — 

Golly, dat's yer pay! 
Git in line an' foUer, 
^ It's election day 1 

Votin' an' a'votin', 
Dames wants it too! 

Wot's it ever done fer us? 
Say, ain't it true! 

Money's comin' easy, 
Votes is hard ta git — 

Ain't no use how ya votes 
It lets dem fellers sit! 

See dem blues a'totin' guns 
Underneat* dere coat? 
23 



ELECTION 

Dat's de stuff, de real stuff, 
De stuff behind de vote I 

Votin' an* aVotin', 
Dames wants it too! 

Wot's it ever done fer us? 
Say, ain't it true! 



24 



I 



THE LITTLE KID 

RECKON dat feller Molly's got 
(Say, he was fresh, th' god dam sot!) 
I reckon dat rich guy Molly's got 

Ain't wort' enough fer me! 
I reckon dey gotta pass a smile, 
An' be a real guy fer a while — 
I reckon all dat feller's pile 
Ain't enough fer me! 

Gee, but I got a feed to-night, 
I got a guy dat acted white! 
Gee, but I got a time to-night 

An' dat's de style fer me! 
He wasn't dere in de way o' cash, 
But say, he had some kind o' flash! 
Gee, dat guy had a lovely mash 

If he only slipped me t'ree! 

Gotta have rent er beat dis shack, 
Hope dat Sad'day night ain't slack — 
25 



THE LITTLE KID 

But gee, I wish dat guy'd come back 

An' take me on a spree! 
Gawd, dis room is hellish hot! 
Maybe I'm easy, maybe not, 
But I reckon dat rich guy Molly's got 

Ain't wort' enough f er me ! 



26 



RELIGION 

SINGIN' hymns an' singin' hymns, 
Howlin' fit ta burst, 
Bawlin' t'ings up at de Lord, 

But gee, dat ain't de worst ! 
Come right up an' brace a gink — 
Guess I got another think! 
Dis prayin'-business makes a stink — 
It got me, bo, at first. 

Singin' hymns an' singin' hymns, 

Screechin' fit ta croak; 
Wake a guy on Sunday! 

(Say, dat's a joke!) 
I don't want no prayin', bo. 
Ain't partic'lar where I go — 
Slip me just five c's er so 

Fer cofEee an' a smoke. 

Singin' hymns an' singin' hymns, 
Bellerin' every night; 
27 



RELIGION 

Guess dem folks'll see de Lord, 

An' dat'U be some sight ! 
Shoutin' prayers an* takin' dough, 
Say, you got it easy, bo — 
Slip a guy a jit . . . huh, no? 
Gee, dis Christ's a tight! 



28 



THE NOVICE 

I BEEN in an' I been out — 
Pass dat can o' beer! 
Ain't no t'ing ta rave about, 

Neither way ya steer. 
I been in an* I been out — 
Say, you young un', try de spout! 
Ain't no t'ing dat I could tout, 
Neither way ya go, bo. 

I been in an' I been out — 
Honest — wot's de diff ? 

Any guy dat works, bo — 
Say, dat guy's a stiff ! 

Stealin' ain't so rare a sin ! 

But dey ain't never gittin' in ! 

An* blokes likes us is up agin it 
Either way wid *em, bo ! 

I been in an' I been out, 
Say, I'll git in some more! 
29 



THE NOVICE 

Ain't no other trick, bo, 
Once de bulls is sore. 
Out ya starve an' in ya eat, 
In's a bed an' out's de street, 
Out yer broke an' in dey treat ! 
Take it either way, bo. 



30 



MARRIAGE A LA MODE 

GEE, de papers makes a show 
Of a gal dat marries dough — 
An' wot's de use in advertisin' dat! 
If ya gotta make yer bed 
Wid de same guy till yer dead — 

Say! it seems ta me ya'd wanta keep it underneat' 
yer hat! 

Marryin* an* marryin' — 

Wot's de big idee? 
Fer mine I travels private 

Wid a guy dat knows I'm free! 
Marryin' an' marryin', 

Tyin' up fer life — 
Say, bo ! I hope ta Gawd you never 

Treat me like a wife ! 

Sometimes ya see a feller 
Wot ya know ain't got no yeller, 

An* he asks ya if yer game ta blow de night. 
Ya sticks him out a hand 

31 



MARRIAGE A LA MODE 

An' he's gotcha till he's canned — 

Dat's marryin' an' marryin', an' den yer married 
right ! 

Marryin' an' marryin' — 

Wot's de big idee? 
Fer mine I travels private 

Wid a guy dat knows I'm free! 
Marryin' an' marryin', 

Tyin' up fer life — 
Say, bo ! I hope ta Gawd you never 

Treat me like a wife ! 



32 



HOSPITAL 

IWANTA sit around a little table, 
I wanta see de jaws a'waggin' hard, — 
Gee, I wish ta Gawd dat I was able 
Ta git away an* chatter wid a pard ! 

Aw, de sickness, dat ain't much, 
When yer dippy like a crutch, 
But de t'ing dat beats de dutch 
Is gittin' well! 

I wanta hear de screeches an' de scrunches, 
De skwankin' an' de squealin' of de trains ; 

I wanta find a pal an' bum my lunches — 
Gee, doc, dis quiet's gittin' in my brains ! 

Aw, de sickness, dat ain't much, 
When yer dippy like a crutch, 
But de t'ing dat beats de dutch 
Is gittin' well ! 
33 



HOSPITAL 

Say, doc, just put me wise to sump'n queer — 
I wasn't wort' yer savin' from de dead — 

But Gawd ! if I got hungry out of here, 
Dey'd send me up de road f er lif tin' bread ! 

Aw, de sickness, dat ain't much. 
When yer dippy like a crutch. 
But de t'ing dat beats de dutch 
Is gittin' well ! 



34 



MOBILISATION 

I ^ ERE gofn' out fer glory, — 
•■"^ Say, ya gotta stop an' look ! 
It's a sight dat grips a feller 

Till he wants ta take de hook ! 
Dere goin' out fer glory 

An* dey'll find it in de mud — 
Cause some un started sump'n. 

An' de bosses, dey want blood ! 

Gawd, de youth dem fellers' got 

In dere breasts ! 
An' de hair dem fellers' got 

On dere chests! 
Say, it's gran' ta see de show 
Wid de guns a' shinin' so — 
But wot ta hell dere goin* fer twon't do ta 
know! 

■g 
Dere goin' out fer glory 
'Cause de flag is feelin' mad, 
35 



MOBILISATIONS 

It's hangin' kinda limplike 

An' dey say its pulse is bad. 
Dere goin' out fer glory — 
An' dat's a kind o' prize 
Wot ya'U find is sump'n diff'rent 

When it bats ya in de eyes ! 

Gawd, de youth dem fellers' got 

In dere breasts! 
An' de hair dem fellers' got 

On dere chests! 
Say, it's gran' ta see de show 
Wid de guns a'shinin' so — 
But wot ta hell dere goin' fer twon't do ta 
know ! 



36 



HUNGER 

I WONDER if de guys 
Wot's been grabbin' all de pies, 
An* dividin' up de good t'ings since de flood — 
Say, I wonder if dey knows 
Wot it's like ta hunger, bo's — 

Ta hunger till yer knock-kneed an' yer eyes are 
seein' blood! 

Hunger, is it hunger? 

It's hunger widout end; 
It's hunger fer a decent word 

An' hunger fer a friend; 
It's hunger fer a gal ya like 

Er hunger fer yer bread — 
Gawd o'mighty help yer, bo, 

It's hunger till yer dead, 

De t'ing dat makes ya sore 
Is wot dey takes ya for — 

Dey fills yer gut ta keep ya actin' mild! 
But Gawd ! I guess yer need 

37 



HUNGER 

Is sump'n more dan feed ! — 

It's sump'n stickin' in yer throat, it's sump'n drives 
ya wild ! 

Hunger, is it hunger? 

It's hunger widout end; 
It's hunger fer a decent word 

An' hunger fer a friend; 
It's hunger fer a gal ya like 

Er hunger fer yer bread — 
Gawd o'mighty help yer, bo. 

It's hunger till yer dead. 



38 



COUNTRY RHYMES 



THE HOME FIRE 

THE home fire's a lazy fire 
And wood it should be, 
And the thoughts said about it 
Begin with we. 

The home fire's a cold fire 
Time may come, and dead ; 

Then there's the road to go 
And the stranger's bed. 



41 



LITTLE THINGS 

THERE'S nothing very beautiful and nothing very 
gay 
About the rush of faces in the town by day, 
But a light tan cow in a pale green mead, 
That is very beautiful, beautiful indeed . . . 
And the soft March wind and the low March mist 
Are better than kisses in a dark street kissed . . . 
The fragrance of the forest when it wakes at dawn, 
The fragrance of a trim green village lawn, 
The hearing of the murmur of the rain at play — 
These things are beautiful, beautiful as day! 
And I shan't stand waiting for love or scorn 
When the feast is laid for a day new-born . . . 
Oh, better let the little things I loved when little 
Return when the heart finds the great things brittle; 
And better is a temple made of bark and thong 
Than a tall stone temple that may stand too long. 



42 



ENTERTAINING 

I WONDER if the high tree, 
Four arms around 
Ever feels its heart 
Beating in the ground. 

I can feel it, stretched here, 

Shoulders in the sod, 
And both ears open 

To sounds from God. 

Oh, the sun has shaken 
The dirt beneath my soles. 

And brought a wind from China 
Singing round the Poles ! 

The thousand things I want 
Are gathered in a row 

From this spot of meadow 
To the spring below. . . . 
43 



ENTERTAINING 

All the fun and money 
The world can boast 

Have come away to visit 
Here, where I am host ! 



44 



DIGNITY 

THE old gray cocks 
Reach to your knees; 
Their tall tail feathers 
Dance in the breeze. 

When they stop to talk 
They stretch still higher 

And peck you if you walk 
Close to the wire. 

The old gray cocks 

Are prouder than a king, 
And even when they scratch 

It's a dignified thing. 



45 



THE LAST NIGHT 

HADN'T we better rise and go 
Down to the wood so ashen-white? 
And you will give me a kiss I know 
Since this is our last night. 

I will give you a kiss indeed, 

A kiss for this and a kiss for that ! 

And maybe a kiss to fill your need — 
So go and get your hat. 

This place is best of all, I think. 

With the white star-blossoms in the grass, 
And a whip-poor-will may come to drink, 

And never a body pass. 

This place is well enough, indeed, 
To bind my soul and kill me quite, 

For I shall never again be freed 
From the kiss I give to-night. 



46 



THE TREE TOAD 

A TINY bell the tree toad has, 
I wonder if he knows 
The charm it is to hear him 
Ringing as he goes. 

He can't have gone the journeys 

He tells me to go on, 
Here in the darkness 

Of the cool, cropped lawn. 

He cannot know the thrill 
Of the soft spring wind. 

Or the wonder when you walk, 
What will come behind. 

He hasn't seen the places 
I'd break my heart to win. 

Nor heard the city calling 
When the cold comes in. 
47 



THE TREE TOAD 

He sings away contented, 
And doesn't leave his tree, 

But he sets my blood a-going 
Where his song will never be. 



48 



THE HORNS OF PEACE 

NO man's life is open as the houses 
Blindly he will build, houses of a dream ; 
Where many maids are running, clad in leather 

blouses, 
Running with white legs into a stream. 

Blow, blow the horns, clearer in the morning! 

Never let the world hear, though the music wake 
Leaves on the ash-tree, and rose set thorning: 

Let speech be over and no woman bake. 

The ash-limbs are burdenless, the rose stands idle, 
A'tremble with the horns, blowing far and sweet; 

And even an old man will dream of a bridal 
Seeing what he was when love was in his feet. 

Blow, blow the horns, farther growing clearer! 

I have seen my life and love as a cloud 
A star will thrust a face through coming nearer. . . . 

Never let the world hear a glad song aloud! 



49 



MYSTERIES 

A DOG goes with you down to a pond 
And he sticks his very nose in the dirtiest of 
ground, 
Where you wouldn't even sit in the oldest of clothes, 
But a dog will do it, and why, God knows! 

A boy grows up and he lives in a town 

Where the prettiest girls walk up and down; 

He looks at one a little and gives her a rose 

And he's off to cut his throat . . . why, God knows! 

A man ploughs ground and his sons grow big, 
His wife gets thinner and she needs a wig; 
He has money in the bank, in acres and in rows. 
And beauty in his looks . . . why, God knows! 



50 



THE MAD WOMAN 

SHE sat home long, the woman 
Who came through our wood, 
After years of seeing 

But what her window could . . . 

I wonder if the wild eyes 

I saw as she passed 
Found beneath the river 

What cleared their gaze at last. 

I wonder if her face 

Was not a girl's again, 
And if she found the flowers 

Thick about the glen; 

And if among her thoughts 

So dark we couldn't see, 
It only was her reason 

Came to make her free. 



51 



THE OLD HOME 

YOU would not find an elm so tall 
As that one by the drive, 
Nor a woman's body as dried and small 

As hers and seem to thrive; 
And there was a man of stormy frame 

And beard unflecked with white 
Who sat beside her bible-desk 

In the lamp's old-fashioned light . . . 
And these two had as different hopes 

As ever two alive. 

Somewhere was hung a girl's profile, 

Black with gold-tinted hair, 
And beside the polished Franklin burner 

Was a long-backed walnut chair; 
I had known these things all years ago — 

Known them, and more than all 
A certain owl that once had hooted 

From near the milk-house wall; 
And that dim room and that whole house 

Had a grave, unlikely air. 

52 



THE OLD HOME 

I thought of forgotten and dismal sounds 

And remembered flawless days, 
Until they fled back choking upon me 

And the lamplight blurred to haze; 
I felt the presences in that room 

As a ceremonious thing . . . 
And that small old lady sitting by 

That dark man listening, 
Smiled at him as a bride who was there 

Smiled at her baby's ways. 

We visitors, it was the dead we thought of, 

For had one done his will 
In that old house and that old room 

It had shaken from the hill — 
Roof and beam in a rain of dust 

Upon that gathered group 
And only the young feet would have sounded 

Hastening, from the stoop . . . 
So we, like the memories of the dead. 

Were courteous and still. 



53 



THE DOOR 

LOVE is a proud and gentle thing, a better thing 
to own 
Than all of the wide impossible stars over the heavens 

blown, 
And the little gifts her hand gives are careless given 

or taken, 
And though the whole great world break, the heart 

of her is not shaken . . . 
Love is a viol in the wind, a viol never stilled. 
And mine of all is the surest that ever God has willed ; 
I shall speak to her though she goes before me into 

the grave, 
And though I drown in the sea, herself shall laugh 

upon a wave; 
And the things that love gives after shall be as they 

were before. 
For life is only a small house . . . and love is an open 

door. 



54 



THE RIVER MAN 

O HORT and lean and grey of eye, 
^ He'll sometimes look up at the sky 
And listen hard as if he heard 
A sound where you'd not hear a word! 

He rather thinks he's satisfied, 
He'd better change before he died; 
A fellow will get in a groove, 
It had been best for him to move . . . 

But often when he's busiest 
With stock and chickens and the rest — 
Bringing the fuel and cutting ice, 
Or taking buckets to the sties. 

Or pointing posts, up in the wood 
Or other things a farmer should, 
He'll stop clean off, and Lord knows why, 
Listen and look up at the sky. 



55 



MOTHERS AND CHILDREN 

"DORN are we of fire 
'■-' And orderly desire, 
And on that day 
The leaves all pray 
And the stars all wait 
By the smallest wooden gate 
To listen to the cry 
Of a woman by and by. 

And they gather in the door to see his little feet 
And go away and whisper there are none more sweet ; 
And they peep in his eyes and laugh like a lord 
To see another human that is not yet bored . . . 
Old men and ladies, they go that way 
And very, very silly are the things they say! 

We are born of woman 
And they say she is human 
But we very soon know 
She is more than so . . . 
S6 



MOTHERS AND CHILDREN 

For we drink from her cup 
With the top closed up 
And no matter how we press 
It grows no less! 

And she sits by the sky where the wind comes through 
And knows what we want by the things we do. 
And the sound of her voice is sweeter than her milk, 
And the feel of her face is like smooth white silk . . . 
And a man may be ninety with a very long beard 
And not be any better than his mother feared. 



57 



TO A DEAD CLASSMATE 

1 REMEMBER going down there first 
To that tawdry dark hotel, 
Where you kept a big mahogany paint-box 

And a dozen or more French books ; 
I remember how you looked at me 

With worried, suspicious looks. 
And curled your lip at something, 

In the pride you could not quell . . . 
Do you ever hear me asking now 

If things with you are well? 

All else at college was so little 

When once my labours won. 
And I was sure you were friends with me, 

And went to that hotel 
Seven times a week to that little room 

With the country-parlour smell. 
And talked of cities and poems 

As a thousand boys have done. 
But as neither you nor I had ever 

Talked with any one. 

58 



TO A DEAD CLASSMATE 

I remember hazy nights 

And the columns white and high, 
The columns so beautifully futile 

Left from the old burned hall; 
Like the white arms of a girl they held us 

Who had known no love at all. 
We lay and sent our hopes with smoke 

Into the summer sky . . . 
Do you hear me when I send to you 

A question or a cry? 

I remember how I came from there . . . 

The little dark hotel, 
And left a promise of Paris with you 

As a girl might have left a kiss; 
I remember the corners I turned to come 

From there and the years to this — 
I remember your parting diffidence, 

The pride you could not quell . . . 
Have you ever since heard me asking 

If things with you were well? 



59 



THE INTERPRETER 

IN the very early morning when the light was low 
She got all together and she went like snow, 
Like snow in the springtime on a sunny hill, 
And we were only frightened and can't think still. 

We can't think quite that the katydids and frogs 
And the little crying chickens and the little grunting 

hogs, 
And the other living things that she spoke for to us 
Have nothing more to tell her since it happened thus. 

She never is around for any one to touch. 
But of ecstasy and longing she too knew much . . . 
And always when any one has time to call his own 
She will come and be beside him as quiet as a stone. 



60 



DILEMMA 

WHAT though the moon should come 
With a blinding glow, 
And the stars have a game 
On the wood's edge . . . 
A man would have to still 
Cut and weed and sow, 
And lay a white line 
When he plants a hedge. 

What though God 

With a great sound of rain 
Came to talk of violets 

And things people do . . . 
I would have to labour 

And dig with my brain 
Still to get a truth 

Out of all words new. 



6i 



THE DANCE 

THERE'S three dances going on three hills 
around 
And twelve fellows out of here and forty from below ; 
And the girls, where they come from how can any 

know? 
But ril be answer for it where one of them is bound. 



The long way's the big road going by the spur 
And the path through the woods is straighter than a 

line ; 
ril go by the big road to show them what is mine, 
But the dark path coming is the way to take with her. 

There's something like a pebble will be getting in her 

shoe, 
And something like a snake will be lying there to fear. 
And maybe it will rain and maybe it will clear 
But I'll be bringing Lizzie home the whole night 

through. 



62 



OLLENDORF'S WIFE 

DAY after day all day I've seen her in the fields, 
Bending over the brown beds in vi^hich she has 
worked 
For twenty years and more. 
There is no look of love for it in her face 
Nor any memory of her brief lost grace of years 

ago. ... 
Only she turns to the Earth, day after day, 
As to her last child. 
Or they will seem 

Like equal enemies, who are drawn together 
By knowledge greater than the common 
Of each other's best. 

At a certain hour 

When the light is a perfect synthesis 

Of calm beauty, 

And the gathering veils of purple 

Are pierced by rosy mists. 

She stands as straight as she is able 

63 



OLLENDORFS WIFE 

And walks home, 

Unforgettably a part 

Of that sudden mysterious girlhood 

Of the world. 



64 



THE CITY 



SECOND AVENUE 

IN gutter and on side-walk swells 
The strange, the alien disarray, 
Flung from the Continental hells. 
From Eastern dark to Western day. 

They pass where once the armies passed 
Who stained with splendid blood the land: 

But bloody paths grow hard with years, 
And bloody fields grow rich and grand. . . 

Are you, O motley multitude. 

Descendants of the squandered dead, 

Who honoured courage more than creeds 
And fought for better things than bread? 

The eternal twilight of the street 
Drives you to madness like a wine. 

To bastioned gates with bleeding feet, 
To walls that curse and locks that shine. . 

67 



SECOND AVENUE 

O curious poison! Yellow fruit! 

Bright lotos that enchains the sense! 
That gives the maiden to the brute, 

And power gives to impotence! 

That gives to man his blindest wish 
Of flaccid ease and flaming lust ! — 

For gold you have grown feverish 
And song has fallen into dust. . . . 

The gorgeous canvas of the morn, 
The sprinkled gaiety of grass, 

The sunlight dripping from the corn. 
The stars that hold high-vestured mass, 

The shattered grandeur of the hills, 
The little leaping, lovely ways 

Of children, or what beauty spills 

In summer greens and autumn greys — 

These are not gained by any toil 

Of groping hands that plead and plod. 

But are the unimpoverished spoil 

Poured from the bursting stores of God. 

How often when the spring is near 
Has one of you forgot his cares 
68 



SECOND AVENUE 

And gone, the Bridegroom of the year, 
Filling with song the streets and stairs? 

How often does the wild-bloom smell 
Over the mountained city reach 

To hold the tawny boys in spell 
Or wake the aching girls to speech? 

The clouds that drift across the sea 
And drift across the jagged line 

Of mist-enshrouded masonry, 

Hast thou forgotten these are thine? 

That drift across the jagged line, 

Which you, O people, reared and built 

To be a temple and a shrine 
For gods of iron and of gilt . . . 

Aye, these are thine to heal thy heart. 
To give thee back the thrill of Youth, 

To seek therein the gold of Art, 

And seek the broken shapes of Truth. 

O vaulting walls that drive the wind 
To feats of such fantastic fun. 

You make men dull, you make men blind. 
You mar the ritual of the sun : 
69 



SECOND AVENUE 

The dramas of the dawn you mar, 
The streaming tapestries of dusk — 

For fruit of life the visions are 
And things are fibre of the husk . . . 

Lo, these who all unthinking strive 
To ports they do not dimly guess — 

Can any arts among them thrive? 
Can they be bred to loveliness? 

By strange design and veiled pretext 
God's will upon the race is told, 

For one year does not know the next 
And youthful still, the world grows old. 

j Yet maybe now there passes here 
I In reverential dream, a boy. 
Whose voice shall rise another year 
And rouse the sleeping lords of joy . . . 

Beat on, ye thousand thousand feet. 

Beat on through unreturning ways ; 
Not mine to say whereto ye beat, 
' Not mine to scorn you or to praise; 

The world has seen your shining bands 
Thrown westward binding sea to sea, 
70 



SECOND AVENUE 

And heard your champing hammers drum 
The music of your deity; 

The world has seen your miracles 

Of steel and steam and straining mass ; 

And yet shall see your builders mould 
A finer temple e'er you pass . . . 

You, having brothers in all lands, 
Shall teach to all lands brotherhood; 

And Labour, welding brain to hands, 
Shall win the mighty to the good. 

And on some f ar-ofE silent day 

A thinker gazing on a hill. 
Shall cast his staff and horn away 

And answer to your clamouring will ; 

He shall bring back the faded bays, 
The graces to their ancient rule, 

The harper to the market-place, 
The genius nearer to the fool. 



71 



THE LOOM-GIRL 

FAR among the fields 
White with carrot-bloom, 
She walked by my side 
Dreaming of her loom, 

Her loom that ever called her, 

Ruthlessly, and she 
Was dumb in the starlight 

And dumb by the sea. 

Far among the sand-dunes. 
Green with waving grass. 

She walked by my side 
A dream-lost lass. 

But deaf amid the stir 
And the dust of the loom, 

She thinks of the sands, 
And the wild carrot-bloom. 
72 



THE BATTLE OF MEN AND GOD 

FROM age to age the spirits wage 
Their endless strife with God, 
The spirits that are brave and strong 
And will not stoop nor plod. 

From age to age the spirits lose, 

For God lifts high his Hell 
And strikes their struggling arms to earth 

And scatters them pell mell. 

Men have but two hands and a brain 

And wills that often veer ; 
God stands upon the topmost plain 

And wields the sword of fear. 

God owns the cops and teeming shops 

And drives the motor cars ; 
But hungry men still mock his power 

As deserts mock the stars. 
73 



THE BATTLE OF MEN AND GOD 

From age to age do stricken men, 

Who yet shirk not to be, 
Withstand the onslaughts of their God 

As rocks withstand the sea. 



U 



FRANCES 

I WILL love you, sir, a little, 
But you can't expect me long 
To sit here idly listening 
To the negro-singer's song. 

I have felt a touch of sadness. 
For the talk is running low, 

And night soon turns to morning 
When the w^omen rise to go. , . 

I will love you, sir, a little. 
But with laughter not at all ; 

To-morrow I must waken 
To another carnival. 



75 



THE WORKER 

O HE sits where piles of britches 
^^ Shut in the poisoned air, 
While you are at the beaches, 
And I am at the Fair. 



76 



THE STRIP OF RIVER 

UP in this tower tall and new, 
I do not feel the call of you, 
My hands keep flying here and there 
Like shuttle-cocks in the crisp air; 
I think of foolish things I do 
And do not feel the call of you. 

Up in this tower tall and new, 

I turn and see a strip of blue 

Far off between the stony hills, 

Where one small sail leans round and fills; 

There hovers like a mighty bird 
The smoke above the turgid herd 
Of great and little boats that sing 
Their love-songs to the sea and fling 
The light-shot spray like silver hail . . . 
You fill me then as wind the sail. 



77 



GOLD 

THE mountains fashioned, for a drug to sway 
Earth's brawny sons from visions of the skies, 
A gleaming metal that the living slay 

To win, and dead men wear upon their eyes. 

I thank them for it — that one day we w^oke 
And walked the streets too desperate to will 

Our footsteps, and then laughing quick, you broke 
Our last ten cents to buy a daffodil! 



78 



OLD YOUTH 



THE DAUGHTER 

AND I will not have anything, not anything of thee, 
Though all the days be longer than the long lines 
of the sea, 
And I will lay no healing kiss upon thy haggard brow, 
For I came out from nothing and a little broken vow. 

The sea all fain is of the sun, out from the ragged 

lands, 
And though they part and shatter faith, the grey wind 

understands 
The sun has loved the sea too much and loving is too 

sore 
To make a little plaything of and leave it on the shore. 

And I will have no ready kiss to heal a broken vow 
For all the winds forgot to sing a year and twenty now. 
Forgot to sing the tidings of a love that had a day 
And left a little plaything for the sea to take away. 



8i 



SONG FOR THE LITTLE MISTRESS 

BREATH of little zephyr bells 
On the night air, 
Do you bring me tiding? 
Do you bring me tiding? 
Moonbeam washing all the grass, 
You who washed her hair. 
Is my true love hiding? 
Oh, where is she hiding? 

She could not have gone to war, 
She was far too weak for that. 
Far too small and weak for that — 

She has not become a star. 
She was far too meek for that, 
Far too young and meek for that ! 

Purple bit of slender grasses 

In the tree's shade, 
Can you tell me news of her? 
Can you tell me news of her? 
82 



SONG FOR THE LITTLE MISTRESS 

Fire-flies flitting here and there, 

Seeming half afraid, 
Who is it makes use of her? 
Who is it makes use of her? 

My true love cannot be dead, 
She was far too soft for that. 
Far too white and soft for that. . . . 

Ah, she laid her in her bed. 
They bore her aloft for that, 
They bore her aloft for that! 



83 



THE MOON'S BETRAYAL 

T N my garden 
-■■ The grey bird weeps, 
Crying for pardon 
The grey bird sleeps. 

Over the hedge 

The slender moon 
That heard her pledge 

Broken so soon, 

Is cold, is cold, 

And his pale heart sorrows 
With grief untold 

For his loveless morrows. 

In my garden 

The grey bird longs, 
Her eyes ask pardon 

To break her thongs. 

84 



THE MOON'S BETRAYAL 

But the moon, her lover, 

Her virgin lord, 
Shines cold above her 

And speaks no word. 

Ah, little grey bird 

E'er the dawn-star shine, 
The moon shall have heard 

Your prayers and mine. 

f 

Ah, little grey bird 

The moon will pardon 

Our grief-sweet loves 
In the moonlit garden. 

And whiter than moonbeams 
That over you shake — 

White bird, white bird 
You shall awake! 



8s 



THE SILENT PLACE 

OVER the eaves the milky way, 
Over the portico the white moon, 
Night's a masquerade of day 
And February walks with June. 

Cold the stone against my cheek, 

Cold in the moon against my side . . . 

He has a bride is chaste and meek 
Who has Silence for a bride. 

So gentle are her fingertips 

I scarce can feel them on my brow, 

So faint the pressure of her lips 

They kiss and leave me wondering how. 

Like votive youths the hedgerows stand : 
Their tops are talking with the stars ; 

The city's rumble caravanned 

Never their endless converse mars. 



86 



THE SILENT PLACE 

Alone amid the garden there 

I kiss the lips and slumbrous eyes 

Of Silence and the folded hair 

Of Silence — she whose sole replies 

Are odours and unutterable 
Low melodies, unsaid desires, 

Songs of a beauty wrought too well 
From too exquisitely tuned lyres. 



87 



THE MELODY 

DEATH is a melody 
I love to sing, 
Death is a grey bird 
With a bright wing! 

Let me wear colours gay 

During life's spell, 
Let me wear Death, a flower, 

In my lapel ! 

Death is a classic mould 
Grave Grecian gourd — 

Let me be melted 
And into it poured! 



88 



TO J. S. P. 
I. THE DEAD SINGER 

SOFTLY give heed — 
His love has taken v^ings, 
Of earthly things 

He had but little need. 

The lips novir mute 

Sang freely from his heart, 
His v^as an art 

Sprung from the Attic lute. 

What slender fetter 

Hung his brief life upon? 

Would he have gone 

So, had it not been better? 

Swiftly he passed 

Filling each day from morn — 
Did each forev^^arn 

Him that they vs^ould not last? 
89 



THE DEAD SINGER 

Shall we not touch 

Ever his hand again, 
Ever in pain 

Or when we love too much? 

Where has the light 

Fled that was in his eyes ; 

Have not the skies 

Gained a new star as bright? 

Peace, leave him then. 

Foolish is singing now . . . 
He has learned how 

God makes the songs of men. 



go 



II. THE CORONAL OF DUST 

WHY hast thou gone, O loving one, O mute! 
Why hast thou gone who cannot sing or speak, 
Or take my hand in laughter and salute — 

There were so many things we thought to seek 

Together e'er the ruddy springtime fled ; 

In eager youth to manhood we were bound, 
The world smiled like a fairyland outspread — 

And thou art lost, whom I had scarcely found! 

The arduous days, the days of town and wold 
Whose hours like jewels wove a coronal 

To crown the love our hearts had learned to hold 
As hand in hand we sought the festival! 

Was it so little a love we held so deep 
And grasped so eagerly forgetting death? 

Or hadst thou stranger songs to find in sleep ? 
Or did the dust crave music of thy breath? 



91 



THE CORONAL OF DUST 

I know not, O Beloved, I but know 
My days are barren and I pass alone . . . 

I cannot come to think thee better so. 

Or know thee speechless as a roadside stone. 



92 



THE LAST POET 

THE planet slain by lyric pain 
Lay crushed against the Universe 
And threw off rhyming molecules 
And bits of quaint atomic verse. 

The winds that had been torturing 
Its surface with their flute-like tones 

Were hushed to hear the mountains sing 
Their parting diatessarons. 

The seas were falling drop by drop 
In vain revenge upon the sun 

Seeking to put its glitter out, 

The moon into a gold thread spun . . 

High up upon a distant star 
Lolled sleepy-lidded Pierrot, 

He plucked the strings of his guitar, 
He sang and turned his eyes below. 



93 



TH^ LAST POET 

" I like to see the people dead, 
I thought it was a merry din — 

The rivers were a lovely red, 
I lingered at the death of Sin — 

" Into the sea I saw one fling 

His mistress drunk with love and wine 
I do not care for anything . . . 

/ only long for Columbine.** 



94 



THE ANSWER 

* * /'DRYING cranes and wheeling crows 
^^ I'll remember them," she said ; 
*' And I will be your own, God knows, 
And the sin be on my head. 

" I will be your own and glad ; 

Lovers would be fools to care 
How a thing is good or bad, 

When the sky is everywhere . . . 

" I will be your own," she said, 

" Because your voice is like the rain, 

And your kiss is wine and bread 
Better than my father's grain." 

So I took her where she spoke, 

Breasts of snow and burning mouth . 

Crying cranes and drifting smoke 
And the blackbirds wheeling south. 



95 



THREE WOMEN 



QUIESCENCE 

HOW can I hide this from him, 
How can I smile all the days, 
And look into other faces 
Because he leaves me to do all things 
But one . . . 

I cannot trouble him with this burden also 

When the other is his. 

Must we be always here together? 

Must the days and the nights go on with him beside 

me? 
Must I watch him in sleep 
When she comes to his dreams, 
Waking a smile on his lips? 

Must I be reverent before the joy that is not from me? 
Must I sit here, helpless, 
Never daring to turn the lamp higher? 

But the lamp would not obey me, 
I am not permitted even to touch him . . . 

99 



QUIESCENCE 

this is the shame of all, 

That I shall guard him in his own, 

And care for the new children of his moments, 

As though they were mine . . . 

Ah you . . . you . . . how can I blame even you. 

My robber! 

Only me who have done nothing, 

1 despise . . . 

Would God my love would let go my hands 

And I might kill him, 

Here, quietly, in my own bed. 

Him, whom my arms are empty for, 

Here, beside me . . , without a kiss! 



100 



E POI VIDI VENIR DA LUNGI AMORE 



I TELL you this, O my new lover — 
When you are close to me 
And I am so silent; 
When you say troubling things 
And I am so silent; 

When you look so at my throat and hair, 
When you look . . . and look . . . 
It is not because I am stupid 
That I am so silent. 



II 

The gowns of my mother, from an old chest 
I have put on sometimes. 
Wondering. O Impetuous One, 
Those lips and hands would reach me 
Through the coquetry of ten thousand years! 



lOI 



E POI VIDI VENIR DA LUNGI AMORE 



III 

Do you know- 
It is only because of you 
That I gaze at myself in the mornings? 
Do you know that I borrow your eyes? 
How I despise my beauty 
Because of the clay that binds it ! 



IV 

I do not want that and that and that, 

I do not want it. . . . 

When we were in the meadow 

And I saved the moth you would have crushed 

See, it is the same in this, 

A trifle that I must save. 



I know that you come 
Thinking to make me more happy, 
To drink my draft of terror. 
How can I tell you that no coming of yours 
Will ever make me happy? 

102 



E POI VIDI VENIR DA LUNGI A MORE 

VI 

I will lose nothing by this; 
The world has been given to me, 
And it will not be taken away. 
I cannot pay to God the dew 
And the jessamine, 
No . . . not for all your love. 

VII 

How you have dreamed of me! 

What things you have known with me 

After you have gone! 

When you come again 

I see that you have held me in your thoughts, 

I have been with you like the smell of geraniums 

After rain. 

And I say, " Beloved . . . 

Only this is left . . . 

It is so little more that I can give you." 

VIII 

Ghosts of shadows. 
These are our days, 
Ghosts of shadows . . . 
I cannot touch them, 

And they pass over me but I scarcely move my eyelids. 

103 



E POI VIDI VENIR DA LUNGI AMORE 

IX 

O Courser . . . come to me. 

You have the car of golden cloud; 

It is shaped like a willow leaf, 

And dipped toward me with a promise . . . 

O Courser, come now! 



What is my cruelty to you? . . . 
Ah, if you but knew! 
It is your comrade and bodyguard; 
More than once it has saved your life 
From the ugly spears. 

XI 

You do not know this. 

That I revolt, I am uneasy, 

I would see you thirst, and give you other water 

than myself; 
I would hurt you and laugh at you. 
Oh yes. ... If I could find out how. 

XII 

How often have I wished - 

That we might trade garments, 

104 



E POI VIDI VENIR DA LUNGI AMORE 

That I might dress you in my beauty 
As I have worn your strength. 

XIII 

Look you into my eyes and tell me 

What you see there. 

Do you see the best of all things? 

Do you see pictures like the gladness of immortals? 

I fear you do not 

Or you would go from me . . . 

You would not love me for the best of all things. 

XIV 

How I have ridden and ridden 

Until I am dizzy, 

On the white way of your thoughts . . . 

Only I sometimes wish they would let me go — 

The paths that always lead me back to you. 

XV 

I did not believe any one would know, 
I thought I had shut it in here, securely . . . 
Who told the world this morning? 
See how they hide their smiles 
When they think I am watching. 

105 



E POI VI D I VENIR DA LUNGI A MO RE 

XVI 

I am like my candle 

Dipping in the wind, 

But it never goes out . . . 

Ah, will you not annihilate me utterly ! 



io6 



SALOME 

THE fruit of that beauty 
Was too heavy for my branch. 
Here I lie flung upon the road 
By storms that came too soon. 

I have flowered 
And borne no fruit; 
I have bled 
And borne no Spring. 

What was music to me but one voice, 

The soft dropping of leaves, 

The rising of wind like a blade at dark-coming, 

The snapping even of the twig that bore me ! 

dim far wine of the sky, 

1 have ripened under you, 

I have decayed under you . . • 
I shall sleep under you. 



107 



EBB SAND AND STARS 



EBB SAND AND STARS 



FROM that last touch of fingers 
The broken wire, 
The message suspended 
Over a desert of rain. 



II 

Peace ... go, 
And in strange places, 
Unexpected turns. 
You will find me. 



Ill 

Unf orgotten ? 
Unremembered ? 
Does the river forget light 
Or remember flowing? 

Ill 



EBB SAND AND STARS 

IV 

Here, 

There will be sounds always 
Of music beginning . . . 
Born of that anguish. 



Better to bless 
Those steeps of yourself, 
Those flowered valleys, 
With new grass. 

VI 

Peace . . . go . . . 

Ah no . . . come closer. 

Yes ... go, 

You cannot help come closer. 

vn 

Ebb sand and stars, 
These be the healing mutes . . . 
Beaten down are the sounds of the sea, 
And I am alone . . . 

1X2 



EBB SAND AND STARS 



VIII 



The tree will whisper, 
The window laugh, 
The room hold me . . 
Trying to displace you. 



IX 



Yes, the wheat and the tares, 
The able and pitiable things . . 
The sky of my memory of you 
Floods them all. 



I would go deeper 

But I fear to tread the earth there, 

I fear that crust. 

There is all hell beneath it. 



XI 

And the nights. 

They will be filled with lines, 
That vainly try to express longing, 
While the wind flaps a shutter. 
113 



EBB SAND AND STARS 

XII 

O temple bells! 

O far Japan of that verandah! 

Such grief will come 

From a spiral vine vs^ith flowers . •. . 

XIII 

The sumach will follow you, 
The plum-bloom and redbud, 
And the flowers of another summer 
But I shall not feel good-bye. 

XIV 

These things that I say 
They will be as nothing 
They will be as dead grass 
They will be burnt up with flame. 



THE END 



114 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




